


Memory's a funny thing

by deadroseboy



Series: deadrose 'verse stuff [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, some backstory stuff idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadroseboy/pseuds/deadroseboy





	Memory's a funny thing

He remembers his old home. Could probably still walk the layout with his eyes closed. He knows the hall, the living room, the bedrooms, front door. He knows the crack in the bathroom mirror (a result of his head being slammed against it), how the window in his room didn’t like to open (despite often use), the back door creaks (not a viable escape route).

He remembers his mother. Rosy Remington. A kind, gentle soul. She wore dresses with flowers on them, she’d tend the garden, she’d- She- …Braided black hair to the center of her back, bright green eyes that glimmered with interest. A love of rocks, if the collection she left behind was any indication. Her favorite color was… Favorite color…

He remembers his father. Jacob Remington. Bastard, monster, abuser. Black slacks, button up shirts. Brown hair, brown eyes. Might have cared at one point, but not for long. Probably actually loved his wife, in a way. Never seemed to care about his son.

He remembers the fight. Standing up to his father’s wrath. Sick of the poor treatment, sick of not eating, sick of being dumped random places. He’d given it his best, tried to fight. When it failed, he tried to run. He can still feel the hands on his arm, pulling back, throwing him down to the floor.

He can’t remember what exactly happens next, only that he’s suddenly jolted back to reality just in time to watch his father run out the front door. Part of him is relieved, because that means the bastard is finally gone, but part of him is worried. Why did he leave in such a hurry? He never reacted to hurting his son by running before.

He remembers dying. Drifting in and out as he bleeds out. He knows the pain, still feels it ghosting over his neck occasionally. Blood catching in his throat, cutting off his air. Coughing, trying to cling to what little life he has left. The numb feeling as his eyes close, and he exhales for what he thinks is the last time.


End file.
